


Amelia Barlow

by gaylina



Category: Original Work
Genre: 70’s, Badass Women, Fighting, Gender Roles, London, Multi, Writer, idealized autobiography, peggy carter meets polly gray
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:48:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29908257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylina/pseuds/gaylina
Summary: Hi! I’m back with a new novel after a hiatus! I consider this an idealized autobiography but I’m not sure how long it is going to be. Writing this, I wanted to express the struggles of women fighting gender norms and, well, men. This is the first story and characters I created all by myself which I’m proud of. Whoever reads this, I hope you enjoy!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Amelia Barlow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I’m back with a new novel after a hiatus! I consider this an idealized autobiography but I’m not sure how long it is going to be. Writing this, I wanted to express the struggles of women fighting gender norms and, well, men. This is the first story and characters I created all by myself which I’m proud of. Whoever reads this, I hope you enjoy!

She played with the cigarette in her hand as she quickly glanced at the forecast in an old drenched newspaper laying on the table. It’s been raining for weeks in London and there hasn’t been the slightest sight of sun or ounce of sunshine. Londoners were bored of it, they were stomping down the narrow streets, gloomy faces matching the weather.

Amelia Barlow, a resilient woman in her 30s, quickly put out her cigarette in a little puddle on the table, leaving lipstick marks on it. She rarely had her lips bare, always wearing the most exquisite red lipstick, deadly for men, and women.

Barlow was a writer in a big city in the 70s. Things that are incompatible. As a teenager, she dreamt of being as good as her favourite author Jack London. She would spend months reading and analysing his novels, _“If only I could meet him”_ , Barlow foolishly longed for him. It wasn’t for everyone she would fall. Amelia was precautious and intelligent.

She stood up, fixed her short, curly, dark brown hair, pulled up her straight check-pattern trousers and shoved her hands in the pockets of her wool blazer. She was for everyone, but not everyone was for her. She used to play with people’s feelings, she wasn’t looking for romance until she realised she already had it: she was in love with two things - her pen and journal she always scribbled in, be it a poem, the impression of certain things or a complete novel.

Amelia was in search of herself, her mission in the world. She lived in her head but accepted the situation as it was. Barlow never wasted time, had a good grip on things and people. Everyone highly respected her. Or were just intimidated by her. Either way, she was an important, yet latent figure at that time. 

She never stopped finding herself, burying herself in the mysteries of existence and life. 

Amelia headed to the luxury boutique higher on the street and swung the door open. 

“Morning, Miss Barlow!”, the woman was greeted by a chubby man in his 40s who was standing near the glass countertop. The shop was filled with expensive pieces of clothes, from the silky gloves with the most beautiful lace to the casual suits, tailored for everyone, which is why Amelia was there.

She tipped her fedora and took her gloves off. “Hey there, Charles.” Amelia Barlow was a regular customer at Charles Smith’s boutique. She used to buy hats and gloves there until she faced the gender norms and bought her first suit. Amelia never understood why men were getting paid more, listened to more, praised more. So she wanted to break the rules and norms, set by men too, by the way.

“Hopping in for another suit, Amelia? Can I be of any assistance?” Charles smiled and held out his hand, hoping Amelia would shake it.

Amelia looked around and nodded to herself, kind of ignoring the man. She indeed was looking for a new suit. The one she had on was her favourite, worn out, served her in many battles. 

“Yes, Charles, a suit. Any new models?” She glanced around again and stared at the salesman with her piercing eyes. Maybe that’s why people were intimidated by her, although she never apologised for the most ordinary, as she saw it, expression on her face. She never smiled when she was told to. Even taking family photos on a lovely Christmas morning, Amelia was the only one to never be all smiles, but she loved her family dearly, and so did they. 

“Just a moment...” Charles mumbled disappearing in the row of monochrome suits hanging next to the countertop. 

Just as he came out with his hands full of the ‘newest’, most different suits to gather dust in that boutique, the doorbell rang and another man stepped into the hallway. 

Amelia just turned her head to look at the stranger and realised the man wasn’t a stranger at all. It was Roman Turner, an editor in the Pilgrim’s publishing company, a 43-year-old bald man in a dark blue suit with a yellow tie.

“Awful choice”, Amelia scoffed quietly and looked down, trying to act decent. Turner tried to take Barlow’s place in the main office of the company, becoming the editor. He was a slick corrupter unlikely to be caught, because he was a man.

“Well, Barlow, so we meet again.” Laughed Roman, taking his coat off, only to receive a cold glance from Amelia.

Amelia was a strong, independent woman, never needing an opinion of others. She knew exactly who she was and what she was worth. Government’s pigs looked miserable to her, Roman Turner wasn’t an exception.

Charles just stood there silently, holding the suits, observing the couple intently. He was always the one to know everything about everyone first thing. A gossip.

Amelia ignored Turner’s words as he approached her slowly, the sounds of his heels clattering louder and closer. He surrounded the woman and placed his hands on the countertop, being inches away from her, breathing into her neck. Amelia’s disgust was visible to Charles, but who is he to get in the way and lose his job?

“Get away from me.” Amelia flinched and held her breath, whispering sternly. 

“What are you going to do?”, chuckled Roman, “Act like a man since you decided to dress like one?”

Amelia’s hands gripped the countertop, her knuckles turned white and her blood boiled: she was grossed out. Being disrespected by men like that was something she couldn’t be silent about.

She bent deftly to escape Turner’s grasp and swung a punch right in his nose, causing it to bleed. The movement had caught Roman off guard and he stared at Amelia in disbelief. How could a girl behave like that with a man? Besides, with her boss.

“I am a woman.” Amelia growled and looked him in the eye as she grabbed her gloves off the counter and made her way out of the shop, closing the door shut, muttering something to herself.


End file.
